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Friday, 25 October 2013

Response 3: The hangover

At first, the stabbing pain behind my eyes is all I'm aware of.
Then a rising urge to vomit. I fight it because the need to remain perfectly
still is greater. Not sure where I am, what happened before. Before? Even the
question eludes me.

Small sounds of movement. I manage to open my eyes and unbearable
light surges in. I'm on the lounge floor. I can no longer ignore the tide of
nausea and run to the bathroom past motionless bodies on floor. Stench of
spilled lager and puke.

The toilet bowl is in a disgusting state but I don't care. Cold
sweat wets my forehead as my guts heave empty.

A phone is beeping somewhere. My phone. I find it under a pile of
female underwear. A text. Perfectly punctuated, of course.

"Dad and I got an earlier flight; we'll be home at twelve
o'clock. Love, Mum xx"